


Skip

by seakaygee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Couch Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seakaygee/pseuds/seakaygee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch is smarter than most people but that doesn't mean that he's not foolish sometimes. And when he finds Effie clinging to her last material possessions, he does a series of foolish things. [debt collector!AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skip

Haymitch Abernathy loves stupid people. He loves it when stupid people get loans for expensive cars they can’t afford. He loves it when stupid people fail to make a specified number of payments towards said cars. But he especially loves them because they always forget to turn off the GPS in their cars because it makes it that much easier for him to find them and take their expensive toys away. 

Take Seneca Crane for example. This asshole has been sitting in the same spot for the past eight hours. Haymitch has repossessed three other cars in that amount of time. He’s almost loathe to pluck such low hanging fruit. But the loan company is offering him one percent of the note and he’s not about to turn down $1250.

He parks his ‘73 Ford Ranger a few blocks away from the address where the the Tesla is supposed to be waiting for him. He palms the car-shaped key the dealer provided and locks his doors. It’s getting dark but he’s not afraid to walk the streets alone. After all, it’s a nice neighborhood where moms push their babies down the street in expensive strollers and bikes rest against trees unlocked. He can just hear the boats on the river over the laughter of well-dressed people sitting at tables outside of cafes. He wonders which one of these assholes is Seneca Crane, rich enough to be sitting in an air conditioned apartment but stupid enough to be drinking an $8 beer outside under the setting Tennessee sun in 90% humidity. 

He sees the Tesla parked in an alleyway with the engine running. He swallows hard and decides to walk around the block so that he can approach from the driver’s side. His hands start to sweat and he wipes them on his shirt, feeling the scar just under the fabric. He’s done this at least a thousand times before, but since that crazy woman gutted him with a knife, he’s been a bit skittish. Coin has been more careful with his assignments and mostly sends him after rich boy skips. And that’s what this assignment is going to be, another washed-up frat boy who has never landed a punch in his life. 

When Haymitch rounds the corner, the car is still there, still idling. He knocks briskly on the window. There is no response so he hesitates for a moment then he unlocks the door with the dealer’s key. He tries to swallow the anxiety down but his mouth is dry. He opens the door, ready for anything--a curled fist, a prostitute on Crane’s lap, a dead body. 

Instead he finds a woman. And for a moment he’s afraid that she might be dead. Her skin is so pale and her lips are dry and cracking. Her thick eyelashes flutter and he lets out breath he didn’t know he was holding. She’s alive. The shallow rise and fall of her chest confirms it. She’s alive and she’s very pretty, beautiful even. Her hair falls in golden waves, through the slits of her eyelids her eyes are blue, and her hands are small. He can’t make out her figure because she’s wearing a white knee length fur coat. But the coat does fall open enough to expose a shapely leg. He’s struck by the image of grabbing that leg and pulling it over his shoulder as he thrusts into her. His stomach tugs and his cock jumps and fuck, he needs to get laid. 

But obviously not by some lady in a soon-to-be-repossessed car. He shakes her shoulder and her eyes open. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips and he bites the side of his cheek hard to suppress the thoughts he has of her little pink tongue on his lips, his pulse point, his cock, his scar. That thought jolts him. No one has seen him undressed since the incident and if he has his way, no one will. “Kill the engine and get outta the car. I’m repossessing it. Haymitch Abernathy, Thirteen Locators and Recovery,” he says. She presses a button and the engine dies.

She blinks twice at him as if she’s never heard human speech before. “I can’t get out,” she replies. Her voice is croaky and he notices that her eyes and the tip of her nose are red as if she’s been crying. But that is none of his business; he’s here for the car and nothing else.

Still, he’s not an asshole. He digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. “You wanna call someone? I can wait ‘til they come pick you up,” he says, offering her his battered flip phone. She crinkles up her nose.

“I can’t,” she says, shielding her eyes with her hand. There’s a large diamond ring on her ring finger and the nail of her index finger is chipped.

He shrugs. “Suit yourself but you’re getting out and I’m taking this car,” he replies, leaning on the open door. She furrows her brow.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she says softly.

“Ain’t my problem, sweetheart,” he says. “Go on and git now.” She swings her legs out, knees together, and uses the door to rise unsteadily to her feet. She sways a little once she’s standing, which forces him to ask, “You drunk, princess?” 

She shakes her head. “No, just hungry,” she replies. “And thirsty.”

He can’t help but snort. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Something as pretty as you always finds a way to eat,” he says, looking her up and down. She wraps her arms around her middle and hunches her shoulders forward. “Why are you wearing that coat? It’s the middle of fucking summer in the middle of fucking Tennessee.” She glares at him and pulls one end of the grey satin bow away from her body. The coat falls open to reveal strappy, black lingerie and not a stitch of clothing to hide her nakedness. “Shit,” he exclaims as he pulls the coat closed. “Fuck,” he says as his fingers clumsily try to tie a bow. Without a word, she takes the fabric from his fingers and ties the coat closed. “Girl, what are you doing out of doors without any clothes on?” he asks.

“I have the coat,” she says dully. 

“You a working girl? I mean, not that I’m judging that. Jesus ran with prostitutes. You’ve gotta live,” he says, tripping over his words and cursing himself internally.

She shakes her head and holds up her left hand, the diamond glittering in the sunlight. “I was Seneca Crane’s wife before he...killed himself,” she says haltingly. Her breathing is harsh like she’s going to start crying and fuck him, this is why--this is exactly why he never talks to them.

“I’m really sorry to hear about your troubles but I gotta take this car in,” he says. She nods without moving. The idea of leaving a woman alone in an alley wearing nothing but her underwear and a heavy coat just doesn’t sit right with him. He’d punch the man who’d do the same to his mother, God bless her, or little Annie or Jo. Granted, Jo would probably punch the man first but the sentiment remains the same. He can’t leave a lady stranded; so he does something stupid. “You know how to drive?” he asks, taking his own keys from his pocket. She nods. “Good, I’ll pay you fifty bucks to follow me in my car. If you do a good job, I’ll drop you at a motel and you can figure it out from there.” She nods more emphatically. “Get in the car,” he says and jerks his head towards the passenger’s seat. He watches her walk away from him for a moment, his ears burning while he watches her graceful legs and the slight sway to her hips.

They ride in silence to his Ranger because he can’t think of a fucking thing to say to such a pretty girl. When he pulls up in front of the truck, he hands her the keys. “You know the city well?” he asks. She shakes her head and he sighs. “You got one of them smartphones?”

She holds up a black phone and pulls her shoulders up to her ears as if she’s embarrassed. “It’s not charged. I didn’t want to use all the gas,” she said, tucking her hair behind ear.

“That’s fine just stay behind me. Don’t let anyone merge between us and if you get lost, pull over and I’ll come find you,” he says. She nods and opens the door to get out. “And don’t get out of the truck for anyone but the law.” She looks over her shoulder at him with a funny little smile. She licks her lips again and nods.

He watches her climb in the Ranger and adjust the mirrors and there’s something so domestic about her making herself comfortable in his space that a stupid, possessive sort of feeling wells up in his gut. She turns the engine over and give him a thumbs up from the driver’s seat. He drives slowly back to the repo yard, making sure to signal long before turns and not letting anyone merge between them. At one point, just after crossing the river, he’s sure that she’s going to make a run for it in her impractical, red-soled heels in his truck with only quarter of a tank of gas. 

But she doesn’t. He thinks he sees her turn on the radio at some point. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel at a red light and he wonders what she’s listening to; whatever it is, it’s probably not 105.9 The Rock, which is the station his radio is normally tuned to. As he turns into the repo yard, he’s struck by the idea of the cab of his truck smelling like her and having to adjust the mirrors and change the radio station. He turns the air conditioning up because he suddenly feels hot and there’s a twisting in his gut that he doesn’t like.

The woman parks his truck in front of the office and makes no move to get out when he does. He goes into the front office and returns both keys to Annie, whose stomach looks like it’s fixing to pop. She’s humming and staring distractedly at the wall when he asks for his receipt. She slowly puts the paperwork together as he glances out the window. He hopes that woman has the sense to open the windows. It’s too hot for a body to sit in a coat in the car, even with the sun setting. Annie finally finishes processing his paperwork and he stops pacing long enough to grab it and holler his thanks before grabbing two water bottles and leaving. 

As he approaches the car, he sees that she’s slumped over on the passenger’s side and he prays that she hasn’t croaked on him because that would be difficult to explain. He climbs in the driver’s side and reminds himself to tell her that she can’t be leaving doors unlocked on this side of town. He slams the door shut, waking her up. “Here,” he says. “Drink it.” He thrusts a cheap water bottle he’d taken from the office into her hand. She stares at it for a moment like she’s never seen a water bottle. Then it’s in her hands and she’s gulping it down like a freshman at a frat party. The water trickles down the side of her mouth and runs down her neck, disappearing under her coat. He licks his lips and before he can tell himself not to do something stupid, he’s opening his damned mouth. “When’d you last eat?” he asks, turning the key in the ignition. 

“The day before yesterday,” she replies, dabbing at the wet trail from her mouth to her chest.

“You want some food? It’s two for one over at Mafiaozas’ on 12th,” he asks, shifting the truck into gear. She’s quiet and for a moment he wonders if she heard him or if she’s fallen back asleep. He glances over and she’s chewing on her lip like she’s trying to puzzle something out. “What?” he says. “Spit it out.”

“I don’t really have the money to eat out. And I can’t exactly go like this,” she gestures to the coat.

He chuckles. “I suppose not. How about this: you use my phone and call in an order and we can eat at my place, then I take you to a motel?” She twists the fabric of her coat in her hands and lets out an unsteady breath. “Hey, don’t misunderstand. I’m going to feed you because my mama raised me to do the Christian thing but I ain’t got no intentions on you.” She looks up at him sharply.

“Good because I can take care of myself. I took four years of judo in high school,” she replies.

“Yeah, I bet you’re a regular karate kid. Get me a supreme,” he says, tossing her his phone. She barely catches it and scrunches up her nose as she scrolls down to the M’s. “Go ahead and say it. I can tell you’re dying to say something.” She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“It’s just...don’t you think mushrooms are disgusting? They are a fungus like athlete's foot. Why would you want to put that in your body?” she asks, looking a little pale at the thought.

He smirks. “That’s my thing--diseased feet. They’re the only thing that get me off anymore. If I’m not sucking on them, I’m eating mushrooms because they remind me of ‘em,” he says, licking his lips. He sneaks a glance and her mouth is wide with horror. “What?” he demands.

She looks back down at the phone. “Nothing, Mr Abernathy. I’ll make sure the supreme has mushrooms,” she says. She looks a little green, so he takes pity on her.

“I’m just teasing, sweetheart. I never really thought about it, I guess. I just want the pizza with the most toppings,” he replies. She hums in assent and orders a supreme for him and a Hawaiian for herself. When she hangs up, he says, “I’m not sure how you can complain about a supreme when you’re ordering pineapple on pizza.”

“Pineapple adds a necessary dimension of acid to an otherwise starchy, fatty dish. And I would just like to say that your manners are terrible. I can’t believe you said that thing about the toes. How disgusting,” she says with a frown.

He laughs. “I’m a simple man, sweetheart. I take my kicks where I can get them.” 

She chortles in response. “Just for the record, my name isn’t sweetheart and I don’t like pet names,” she says, putting her arm out the window so her fingers can run through the rapidly cooling air.

“Yeah, what is it then?” he asks.

“Effie. Effie C-Trinket,” she replies. Then she says, “It’s Trinket again.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. It’s a cruel world out there,” he says, thinking of his girl who is long dead and buried deep in his heart. Effie doesn’t say anything so he does. “It’s good to know you, Effie. Like I say, I’m Haymitch.” He reaches over the steering wheel to shake her hand.

“A pleasure,” she says. Her handshake is firm and confident and her skin is soft and smooth. She looks at him for a moment, really looks at him. Her eyes flick over him once then twice and then she licks her lips and he feels something pull in his stomach.

Haymitch picks up the pizzas and a gallon of sweet tea. When he steps out of Mafiaozas’, she’s cooing at a baby through the open window of his truck and chatting with the mother, and for a split second he feels like a Haymitch from the past, one who had things to look forward to, the one who stupidly hoped. But the mother and baby wave goodbye and like that the spell is broken.

Effie beams at him as he gets in the truck. She reaches over to take the pizzas from him and her hand slips over his and the touch crackles. She looks up from the pizzas and he wonders if she felt it too.

She holds the pizza on her lap as they pull up to Haymitch’s bungalow. “I’ve never been to a stranger’s home alone before,” she says. “I went everywhere with Seneca when we were married and before that I always went places with friends.” He grunts in response. But in the darkness he can see that she’s nervous.

“Well I’ve never driven a lady around in a fur coat and her stepins so, it’s new territory for both of us. Let’s eat while it’s hot,” he says, opening the door of the truck. She’s still sitting in the truck when he reaches the tailgate and he realizes that she must be waiting for him to open the door for her. He rolls his eyes but he opens the door for her anyway and takes the gallon of sweet tea so that she doesn’t have to carry everything. 

Her stomach grumbles as he unlocks the door and he smirks at her. His home is nothing special. It was built after the war and had fallen into disrepair so it had needed a bit of work when he moved in, but it has a fireplace for the winter and decent water pressure so he doesn’t complain. “Oh!” she exclaims. “It’s charming, Mr Abernathy! I love the built-ins and oh my, is that exposed brick original?” She sets the pizzas down distractedly on his coffee table and touches the wall. “It wants a woman’s touch but the bones are there. It has real character. Can I have a tour after we eat?” She looks at him with clasped hands and a light in her eyes that makes him want to smile.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says, flopping down on the couch. He flips open the top box. It’s Hawaiian, so he pushes it off and opens the other, letting the scent of cheese and bread and meat hit him. 

“It’s Effie,” she corrects, shutting the pizza box. “I’ll carry these to the kitchen table while you get the plates and napkins.” 

Haymitch considers reminding her that they’re in his fucking house and that she doesn’t get to tell him shit. But it’s probably better if they do eat at the table. He rustles up some old paper plates and some brown napkins from a drive thru. Effie washes two glasses and sets them on the table, still dripping, with a look of disproportionate triumph on her face. She pours them both a glass of sweet tea from the sweating jug as he turns on the air conditioning.

He grabs a piece and sticks half of it in his mouth, chewing with his mouth partially open. She clearly disapproves and he wants her to say it but she seems determined to be polite. He leans forward and places his elbows on the table and hooks his feet around the legs of the chair. He finishes the rest of the pizza in two bites. Effie takes a small bite of the tip of her pizza then sets it down as she chews. She swallows that bite, takes a sip of her tea and asks, “Are you originally from this area, Mr. Abernathy?”

He looks up from his second piece of pizza. “West Tennessee born and raised, ma’am. You?” He takes another large bite and tries not to laugh as she wrinkles her nose at him.

“I’m originally from upstate New York,” she replies, taking another small bite.

“And you ain’t got any kin up there to help you?” he asks. “Your man neither?” She recoils slightly and drops her pizza on the plate loudly. She seems to be weighing her words.

“I called my mother when Seneca died and they started to take everything away, and she said that since I am an adult, I need to figure things out for myself. My father wouldn’t even take my call. He was too busy on another line,” she says. He can see the tears forming in her eyes but she doesn’t look away. “You know I’d never written a check or paid a bill before? Seneca did all of that.” She picks something off her pizza. “I sold my furs first, they covered the mortgage for a few months. Then some dresses on consignment, they paid for the club membership. Then the jewelry for the funeral. Then the furniture when the bills started really piling up. I couldn’t sell Seneca’s things though. It wouldn’t have been right, even though it’s been over a year. I just kept telling myself that if I could hold out a little longer someone would come for me.” She sips her tea. “When they took the house, all they let me take was this coat. They even took my bag and my earrings. I thought about selling the coat so that I could stay in a hotel but I was afraid to leave the Tesla. Now I don’t even have that.” Her voice is thick now and he’s afraid that she might cry.

He gulps down some tea and says, “So you don’t have people either. That must be hard for a girl like you.” She’s in the middle of chewing a bite of pizza. She covers her mouth with her hand and apologizes as her stomach grumbles again. “Eat your pizza and don’t worry about talking.” He eats a bit more then says, “You can call me Haymitch.”

“Haymitch,” she repeats, the first syllable is breathy in her accent. “Effie, if you’d like.”

“I’d like,” he replies.

Effie only eats one piece of pizza and drinks one glass of tea, declaring it quite enough, even though her stomach is still rumbling. Haymitch finishes half of his pizza, a piece of hers and drinks half of the gallon of sweet tea. She puts the pizza and the tea away in the fridge and he throws away the plates and the napkins. As she’s washing the glasses, he says, “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” She looks up at him like a deer caught in headlights. “I got an extra room and the door locks from the inside so you’ll be safe from me.” She ducks her head and puts the glasses on his drying rack.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she replies, looking him straight in the eye. He snorts derisively at that. “I’m not,” she insists. “I’m the karate kid, remember?”

He laughs. “Yeah, well. Keep your moves to yourself, okay? I’m gonna put some clothes and a towel for you in the bathroom. If you want.” She chews her lip for a moment.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says.

He sighs and rests his hip against the counter. “Here’s how I see it: we’re friends.” She scoffs. “No, I mean it. You drove my truck back to work for me, nary a scratch on it. And I just fed you. That’s friends in West Tennessee.”

She looks intently at this face, as if trying to divine something. “I can be a good friend,” she says. “Everyone used to say that...before.” He smirks at her and has to suppress the stupid impulse to tuck her hair back behind her ear.

Haymitch watches TV while Effie showers and tries not to think of the water running down her naked body or his clothes touching her skin. He finds it hard to concentrate while the water is running. When it shuts off, he realizes that his entire body is tense and his hands are in fists on his thighs. He relaxes his hands and rubs them on his jeans to dry them. Maybe he’ll ask Coin if they need a replacement for Annie while she’s on maternity leave. Effie might not have a lot of real world experience but she’s got all her marbles, so she’s one small step up on sweet Annie. 

Or maybe he could call Chaff. He’s not sure how well she’d fit in at The Arena but a job’s a job, at least until her folks come to their senses and take her back home. The only problem with The Arena is that he can’t visit her there. He still isn’t strong enough to be around alcohol and not take a drink. Fuck, that’s exactly what would make this easier, a tall glass of whiskey. But if he gets another DUI, they’ll take his license and he’ll be royally fucked. Rehab had fucking sucked; he doesn’t want to do that again, doesn’t know if he could live through drying out a second time.

“Hi,” Effie says interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard her coming down the stairs, so her sudden appearance startles him. “May I?” she asks, gesturing to the seat. He nods and she sits next to him, her thighs squeaking on the leather of his sofa. She curls her legs under her and sits with her back straight. “What are we watching?”

He shrugs because he honestly can’t remember now. But he can feel the heat radiating from her body and he tries not to think about how his shirt and his sweats are touching her skin, tries not to think about the way his faded Vols jersey dips to expose a bit of her clavicle, tries not to think about the noises she’d make if he nipped along the bone there. He tries not to feel possessive when he thinks about her in his house, wearing his clothes, sitting on his sofa. His bicep twitches and he has to suppress the urge to put his arm around her. It would be so nice to touch her. It’s been so long since he’s held someone, been held by someone. “It’s rude not to answer questions, you know,” she says, burrowing into the couch, her knee touching his thigh.

“It’s rude to correct a body’s manners in his own home, too,” he replies, a smirk tugging at this lips. She laughs and throws her hands up in a defensive posture.

“You’ve got me there,” she says with a smile. Her damp hair falls over her face and his fingers are itching to tuck it behind her ear. To touch the warm, sensitive skin there. To trail his fingers past the angle of her jaw, past her pulse, down her throat. His mouth has gone dry and the air is so thick that he can barely take a breath. 

She reaches out towards him and he stays as still as possible. Her fingers graze his cheek, her chipped manicure scratching against his stubble. “You need a haircut,” she says, touching his hair softly. He tries to swallow but he can’t. He barely nods as she leans closer to him. He shouldn’t hope. He shouldn’t even let himself think that she might want to kiss him. Her lips press against his cheek. They are full and dry and slightly chapped so that they rasp against his skin. The breath catches in his chest. She kisses him again, but closer to his mouth this time. His lungs are on fire as she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. If she kisses him, he’s just going to go for it. He’s going to kiss her back so hard. “Thank you,” she whispers, her lips moving against his.

That breaks the spell. He jerks back hard, panting. She cocks her head, questioningly and drops her hand from his hair to his chest. “You don’t have to do that,” he says. He feels disappointed that she chose to kiss him because of that. He doesn’t want her thanks. He doesn’t want her to feel obligated. He wants her to feel the same pull in her stomach that he does when they sit next to each other.

“I know,” she says, “But I want to. I know...I know you’ll make it good for me.” She reaches up and cups his nape. “I want to feel good, Haymitch. I think I can make you feel good too.”

His desire coils so tightly in his belly that he thinks he might be sick. He doesn’t move, he just looks between her chapped lips and her darkened eyes as their breath meets. He nods once and reaches out for her, tangling his fingers in her hair. He doesn’t mean to kiss her as hard as he does. But his lips crash hard against hers. His nose hits hers as he scrapes his teeth against her bottom lip. She frames his face with her hands and moans into his mouth. He licks her lip and she nips at his tongue, capturing it between her teeth. 

A hot lick of desire burns through his belly and he grabs the back of her thighs, pulling her onto his lap. She makes a little noise of surprise that vibrates through his lips and his tongue, making his cock twitch against her. She wiggles her hips, nestling between his thighs until he can feel her hot center pressing against his cock through his jeans. He breaks the kiss and raises his hand up to cup her cheek. She leans into the touch and something warm burns in his chest.

“There were men after Seneca,” she says, looking him directly. “I thought--I needed someone. I didn’t know how to just be alone. I know that must sound terrible.”

Jealousy and anger roil in his gut. What kinda morons let a girl like this go? If he had the chance, he’d take it with both hands. Suddenly he feels the heat of her cheek and her ass in his hands and realizes that he has taken it with both hands, and he feels a burn on his cheeks at that.

“I just want you to know this isn’t about...about that,” she says, her fingers playing with the neck of his shirt. He nods mutely. “Are we okay?” she asks. He nods again and strokes her cheek with his thumb. She grasps his forearm with her cool hand and holds it firmly. Then she turns her head and takes his thumb in her mouth, sucking it and grazing the pad with her little white teeth. She releases it with a pop, smiling at him.

He must look like a dumbass. His mouth is open wide enough to catch flies and his eyes are wide and staring. She breathes a little laugh and kisses the corner of his mouth. He’s just frozen there as she pulls off her borrowed shirt, which is probably for the best because the muted orange wasn’t right for her anyway. He’s got a Titan’s jersey some place that would bring out her eyes. And maybe she could even lose the shorts if she wore it on account of how big it would be on her.

When he sees her breasts, he forgets about his limited wardrobe offerings. He’s gawking again, he can feel it. She’s saying something apologetic about the size of her chest, how she’d always meant to have an augmentation but now there’s little hope--he stops her right there. “Doesn’t fucking matter,” he says.

“Language,” she replies, clucking in disapproval.

He places his hands on her shoulders and lightly drags his fingers down her chest until he can palm her breasts. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he says. A blush blooms across her chest and he almosts laughs because he’s sure that she wouldn’t like it but it’s just about the prettiest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. He cups her breasts for a moment, just feeling the soft skin fill his hands. Then he flicks his thumbs hard against her nipples. She bucks her hips against his, rocking against his hard cock, and a shiver passes over her, shaking all the way down her slim body. She needs to eat more, he thinks as he moves his hands down her ribcage to the little tuck of her waist. He rubs his thumbs against her pale skin and gives her a bit of a squeeze. She makes a sharp noise and he searches her face for an indication that he’s done wrong.

“I’m a bit ticklish,” she says, looking a bit bashful. He smirks back at her because if he gets the chance, he’s going to use that against her. He moves his hands down lower until his fingers hit the waistband of the shorts she’s wearing. He brushes his thumbs from the soft skin to the worn, pilling fabric and back up to her warm skin again. He takes one glance at the place where their hips meet and his mind supplies a lurid image of what they would look like if they were joined there. He works his jaw in circles and stares. “You can just take them off if you want,” she teases, hooking the knuckle of her index finger under his chin. He leans forward and they kiss for a moment before she pushes off of him and takes off the shorts. 

Haymitch isn’t disappointed but he almost wishes that she weren’t shaved. He likes a bit of hair and he really wants to know if that honey hair is her natural color or not. She reaches for the waistband of his jeans and says, “Shall I take these off while I’m up?” He nods, not taking his eyes off of her. She slides the button through its hole silently and slowly tugs the zipper down, licking her lips. He swallows hard as she curls her fingers around his jeans and his boxers. He lifts his hips and she slides them down off his hips. He hisses as the cool air hits him. She shoots him a look as she pulls his clothes to his knees. He quickly uses his feet to get them off his legs. She picks them up and he wonders for a moment if she’s going to fold them or some shit. Instead, she produces his wallet and opens the billfold. Her tongue darts out over her plump bottom lip and without thinking, he takes his cock in hand and pumps his fist over his length once. She produces a condom and frowns at it. “It expires in two weeks. It should be okay, though, right?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” he grunts. She smiles at him and passes him the foil wrapper.

“I’ll let you do the honors,” she says, straddling his lap once more. She leans forward so that the tip of his cock smears pre-cum on her belly. He waits for her to object but instead, she wraps her arms around his neck and says, “Only one more thing to go.” He must look as puzzled as he feels because she has to drop a hand down to the hem of his shirt before he catches her meaning. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t feel that he can object because she’s sitting totally naked on top of him but he wishes he could be spared her eyes on his scar. He places the condom on the seat next to him and pulls his shirt over his head. He tosses it away and pointedly does not look at her; he focuses his gaze on a spot over her right shoulder. The paint’s cracking on the windowsill and when she’s gone, he’ll fix that. He’ll buy a fuck ton of Old English and scrape paint and drink until his liver is dead and he can’t think about anything ever again.

“Oh, I like this,” she says, running her hand over the hair on his chest and letting her nails scrape against his skin. “So many guys wax, or worse shave. Just ugh, all those ingrown hairs. I like the natural look though. It’s kind of 70s?” She pauses then asks, “How often do you have to work out for this?” She drags a finger over his pec, tracing the muscle with a light touch. 

He doesn’t know what she’s playing at but he answers anyway. “Don’t work out. Just work, you know loading the cars onto the flatbeds, and home stuff,” he says.

She smiles like the cat who got the canary. “I could get used to this,” she says, licking that bottom lip again. She trails her hand further south and he knows she’s really seen the scar when she frowns. “What’s this? Did you get your appendix out or something?”

“Appendix is on the other side,” he replies. He feels a cold sweat prickle on his skin.

“It must have hurt,” she says with a frown. Before he can answer, her fingers are brushing against the hair at the base of his cock. She makes a little humming noise and strokes her finger from his base to his tip. Heat prickles along his spine and he wonders if that is it, if she’s not going to ask him anything more about the scar. Then she swipes her thumb over the head of his cock and he forgets about the fucking scar. She runs her hand down his length and gently massages his balls. “You feel pretty ready to me,” she says pointedly. “But you’re going to have to do some work before we use that condom tonight.” She gives him a little smile for encouragement.

Hesitantly, he reaches between them and touches her stomach. His hand looks big and dark against her skin. He licks his lips, takes a steadying breath and slips his hand down to cup her. She shudders and grabs his shoulders as he presses the heel of his hand against her. She closes her eyes and starts to roll her hips. Her lips are pressed in a thin line and her tongue keeps darting out to wet them. So he leans in and lends her a bit of moisture. He kisses her, sucking her bottom lip between his. She keens and her hips jerk hard against his hand. 

It’s been a minute since he’s been with a woman and he doesn’t know that he was ever any good with them but he’s determined to at least make an effort. When this--whatever this is--goes to hell, it won’t be from lack of him trying. He slips his fingers between her folds and starts stroking her. He begins around her cunt--she’s wet and hotter than the Tennessee sun--rubbing the rim of it as she rocks against him.

He breaks their kiss and starts to kiss her throat. She’s got a beautiful neck, slim and long and longer still when she stretches it back and gasps as he sucks on her pulse point. He moves his fingers up slowly, tracing patterns on her soft, hot skin. She’s panting now, which is a relief because he must be doing something right. He starts nipping at her collarbone, just like he’d imagined earlier and he’s rewarded with a slight twist of her hips. He reaches the hollow of her throat with his lips and her clit with his fingers at the same time. His tongue circles the groove where bone meets bone as the tip of his finger circles her hood. He tastes the salty sweat that has accumulated there; she tastes like the sea and her ragged breath in his ear reminds him of the crash of the waves. 

She whimpers when he pulls his finger away from her clit and stops licking her skin. He just pauses for a second, letting her throb and ache. Then he plunges a finger inside of her and presses his tongue against the indentation at the base of her throat. A moan travels up through her and vibrates down his tongue, making his cock jerk and drip.

He adds a finger as soon as she’s relaxed enough to accommodate it. He starts kissing down her breastbone, making a wet trail to her dusky nipples, as he pumps his fingers slowly inside of her, curling them slightly each time he pulls them down toward her entrance. He closes his mouth around her breast, scraping her hard nipple with his teeth just like she’d done to his thumb. 

She pushes him off her. “Grab the condom,” she says, shakily. He does, ripping the packet and rolling it on himself. She raises herself up above him and slowly lowers herself down. He stops her, grabbing her hips, once his head is inside of her. He thrusts shallowly into her, trying not to let his eyes close. He wants to remember everything about how she looks right now. How the white light from the only lamp in the room shines through the pink flesh of her ear, the way it catches in her hair like a halo. How he can see her pulse jumping under her jaw as she pants. The shallow thrusts are killing him but Effie seems to want more too because her nails are digging desperately into his shoulders.

He thrusts deep inside of her and she wails against his neck before biting down on his pulse. He can’t stop his hips from jerking up into her and he drops one hand to hold her in place. She rotates in small circles, pressing her hip bones into him as she moves. Her inner muscles pull him deeper inside of her, like a riptide dragging him further into her. “How close are you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

She shakes her head and slips her hand between them, her knuckles hitting the base of his cock. She leans into him and kisses him deep and slow. He strokes her tongue in time with his thrusts and soon he can feel a weak fluttering in her cunt. He strokes the side of her waist softly and she flinches away. “Tickles,” she moans. He grunts and strokes her side again. She wiggles in response, her cunt grasping him more firmly. He tickles her more and little giggles escape her mouth, cut with breathy moans.

“I’m goin--Haym--,” she pants, her head bowed into her chest.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he groans because if she’d just hurry up and fucking come, he can finish too. He thrusts deeply a few more times before she tenses above him and comes with a sob. She collapses against his chest as he intensifies his thrusting. He’s really just rutting against her and fuck she looks beautiful that way--her lips parted and her tits bouncing. Then her cunt grabs him and squeezes the come out of his cock. He shudders and moans her name as he finishes. He rides out the last waves of his orgasm while she presses soft kisses to his shoulder. They stay like that for awhile, her knees pressed against his sides, his hand cupping her ass. 

But when he’s totally soft, he nudges her. “Lemme get up and take this thing off,” he says. She makes a little whining noise but she climbs off him nonetheless. Her first steps are unsteady so he grabs her hips and steadies her as best he can. She looks over her shoulder, hair a mess and cheeks flushed. He did that. He mussed her hair, he put the pink in her cheeks. He feels a bit proud of himself. 

“We should get some sleep,” she says, smiling. He almost stumbles over his own feet trying to follow her as she gathers their clothes and hands him his. He peels off the condom and makes a mental note to buy trash cans and condoms for every room in the house. He follows her upstairs and quickly throws the used condom away in the bathroom. When he steps back into the hall, Effie is standing by the door to the guest room, running her hand over her arm. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe you can give me that tour?” she asks.

Haymitch’s throat goes dry. He’d assumed that they’d sleep together. “Sure. In the morning. Get some sleep now, princess.” 

She gave him half a smile and raises her hand as if to wave then disappears into the spare room. He goes to his room and shuts the door. Mechanically he takes his clothes off and gets ready for bed but his mind is reeling. He sits for a moment on the edge of his bed, contemplating going to get Effie. He thinks about how how it would feel to listen to her slow breathing once she falls asleep, how her body would fit against his. His cheeks burn with embarrassment. He’s being so fucking stupid. He should just be grateful that she helped him get his rocks off. It obviously didn’t mean anything more than that to her. 

He flops down on the bed and rests his forearm over his tired eyes. He’s got to be up in a few hours for work so he should at least try to get some sleep. Out of habit, he cups himself but he’s still sensitive from his orgasm on the couch and he thinks that he liked Effie’s hands better than his own. This is so fucking stupid, pining after some rich girl who’s just going to leave like everyone else. 

She has nowhere else left to go, a voice in the back of his head reminds him. But that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want her trapped. He rubs his hand over his face. He could ask her to stay. He could ask her what she wants and tell her that he wants her to stay. Crawling out of bed, he puts on a pair of boxers. He walks to the door but his courage falters. She’s so perfect; there’s no way that her family won’t want her back, that she won’t just up and leave. He rests his forehead against the cool doorjamb. He’s got to give her that choice. He’s got to at least let her know what he wants. He throws the door open, strides across the hall and bangs entirely too loudly on her door.

“Haymitch?” she calls. Her voice is muffled.

He should’ve planned out what he wanted to say. “Uh, yeah, it’s me, sweetheart. I was just wondering if you wanted to sleep with me.” There’s a pause. “You don’t have to. Fuck.” He hears feet on the floor, then the lock turns but she doesn’t open the door. “Effie?”

“I’m here,” she says. He’s almost glad that he can’t see her. 

“Don’t you think--haven’t we both spent enough nights alone?” he asks. If she doesn’t open the door, he’ll leave her alone and pretend that this never happened. He hears the knob turn and the door scrape open. The hairs on his arms stand up as she emerges from behind the door. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he searches her face for disgust or anger but he finds neither. She’s looking up at him, shorter now without her heels, with a look of undisguised anticipation.

He sticks his hand out awkwardly and feels stupid for trying. Then her cool fingers slip between his, intertwining them, and he jerks his head towards his room. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s go to bed.” She smiles so softly that it takes his breath away. He’s not used to her softness yet.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” she says as she leads him into the bedroom.

Suddenly he feels shy and regretful. He barely had the courage to knock on a door for her. “You came for me first,” he replies. She stands up on her toes and kisses his cheekbone, then his jaw, and then his mouth.

When she climbs between the worn sheets on his bed, he wonders if he can call off from work for tomorrow. They could go get her some clothes and eat breakfast somewhere, then maybe he could talk to Chaff or Coin about a job and maybe they could have sex again. He wraps his arms around her and she tenses. Maybe she doesn’t like being held. He curses his stupidity as he relaxes his hold on her. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, she’s turning in his arms. She throws an arm around his waist and rests her cheek on his chest. “Goodnight, Haymitch,” she says.

He presses a kiss into her hair and tries not to be totally overwhelmed by her. “Night, sweetheart,” he replies.


End file.
